The Spectacular ShortShorts
by BoxOfChocolatesXxXx
Summary: might add another chapter to this one eventually...but this is a short story about England and younger America
1. The Spectacular ShortShorts

**Little America, only 12 years old, waited impatiently as he watched England do the laundry. America was only wearing one of England's button-down shirts, and it was very large on him. "Englaaaand~~ I'm very cold wearing only this…." America whined. "Well then, you should have told me that you needed your laundry done BEFORE you had no clean clothes left," England replied. America pouted and crouched down on his knees. One of England's chickens dashed over to him, expecting to be fed. "Oh dear…" England mumbled. America turned his attention away from the chicken and looked at England who was facing away from him. "Oops…" England said as he showed America a pair of his shorts….that were shrunk.**

**England waited outside of America's door as he changed into his shrunken clothes. "Its….hard to get on…" America said from the other room. "I'm so sorry, America," England replied, "But you'll just have to wear that until we buy you new clothes." England sighed, he couldn't believe he had messed up with his beloved little America's clothes. America appeared from the other room, and England stared at him in awe. America's button down shirt was shrunken at the sleeves, showing off his slender arms, but it hadn't shrunken at the torso so it covered him there….but his shorts were so small. America's thighs were skinny, but it was so tight that his thighs slightly bulged out where the shorts cut off. "I guess it can't be helped," America said, "you're right, I'll just have to wear this when we buy new clothes. Gosh, it'll be embarrassing…" America tried to tug his shorts lower so that it could cover more of his legs, but it didn't work. England gulped. "No….Don't worry, I'll go buy you clothes by myself…" England said, his eyes not leaving America's naked legs. "What? But….I don't..," America couldn't finish his sentence. He didn't want England to go somewhere and leave him behind again. Even if it was just to the store. "Couldn't I go with you? What if the clothes you buy don't fit me? Please, England-" America protested. "**_**No!**_**" England snapped, and America made a hurt expression. "Ah….Sorry," England quickly apologized, "But, you're right, it would be embarrassing," England placed a hand on America's delicate thigh, "You can't wear something like this out in public. I'd be too worried-" England cut off his sentence and America looked up at him in confusion. England would be worried that creeps-like France-would be staring at America and his spectacular short-shorts….but England didn't want to explain to America WHY. "Its fine, America, just get out of these silly shorts already," England said, tugging at the shorts without thinking. America grabbed England's hands. "I can do it myself!" He protested, "I'm not a kid anymore, I don't need your help to undress myself!" England mentally whacked himself on the head. "Ah, yes, that's right…..Go ahead…" America went back into his room to change, and England stared one last time at America in the short-shorts as he disappeared behind the door, knowing that it would be the last he saw of those spectacular short-shorts.**


	2. The Return of the ShortShorts

America sat cheerfully on a bar stool in England's kitchen, slightly kicking his legs back and forth while biting into his second hamburger of the day. America was staying at England's house for the weekend because there was yet another meeting with the Allies and it was in a new location. He found it very awkward to be back at England's house after such a long time, but nothing could really dampen this hero's spirits when he had such a tasty burger in his hands. His eyebrows twitched suddenly, and realized that there was no ketchup in his burger. He reached into the paper McDonald's bag, but couldn't find a single small package. America sighed and placed his burger down on a napkin and began to search England's cupboards. Eventually America gave up, and climbed up the stairs to the second story to find England.

He reached England's room and didn't even bother knocking on the door, and just waltzed in. England wasn't there, however, but was in the bathroom connected to his room. America could here the faint sound of a shower. He decided not to bother England with his missing ketchup problems and left to go back to the kitchen, when a small box caught his eye. It was slightly sticking out from underneath England's canopy bed. He recognized it from his childhood. Without thinking, America pulled the box further out from the bed and curiosity took over. He froze when he lifted the lid, and small shock written on his face. The box was full of old papers and drawings that he had done when he was little, but on top of everything was a pair of tiny, shrunken shorts. The memories from that event suddenly came back to him, and after a long moment, he slowly placed the lid back on. He remembered how uncomfortable the shorts were, but most of all, he remembered England's reaction. Being how young he was at the time, America was clueless, but now that he was older and was remembering….

_England's face tinted pink. His hands slightly quivering. One of those hands touching his bare thigh_….America shivered. He remembered how England had gone into a sudden panic when America begged to go out to the store with him dressed like that. He remembered England's eyes never leaving him….A deep blush appeared on America's face. "Oh God…" He mumbled. He couldn't get the mental image of England's excited, blushing face out of his head. America heard the shower water turn off and he quickly pushed the box back under the bed and rose to his feet. England appeared from the bathroom door, wearing a white fluffy bathrobe and wiping his damp hair with a towel. He flinched when he saw America across the room. "America?" England asked. "Ketchup," America stated. "Huh?" England replied. "Where's…your ketchup at?" America managed to say. England smiled at America's typical behavior. America blushed even deeper. "Its in the refrigerator, in the very back. Its probably hidden behind other things," England answered. "Thank you very much," America said quickly and formally and turned to leave the room. England blinked a few times, confused at America's out-of-character formality. He shrugged it off and walked past his bed to his drawer, not even noticing the box under his bed that was pushed further back than where he had left it.


	3. The Forgotten Memory

America continued to eat his burger as England got dressed and prepared upstairs. However, America wasn't wolfing down his burger, surprisingly. He was too lost in thought. Were there any other moments that England was like that? America scanned through his memories of his childhood. He never really thought about those days much, even though he cherished those memories, but they brought up painful memories as well. "Maybe that moment was just a fluke," America thought, staring down at his now-cold burger. Memories of England cooking for him, he always looked so cheerful while he cooked, returned to America. He remembered England teaching him many things, like how to fire a gun. He couldn't remember anything that was out of the ordinary like the short-shorts incident. Maybe it WAS just a fluke. America sighed, feeling relief, and something…else? He lifted his hand to his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Why would England think that way, anyway?" America thought to himself, laughing. "There's no way England could ever like me that way…." Then America suddenly realized. Another memory was slowly returning to him. "_Never like me that way…_" He repeated. "When have I said that before?" He thought, for it sounded strangely familiar. "_He didn't mean it in that way_," America finally said, out loud, as he remembered his own words that he had said in the past.

Little, thirteen-year-old America waited impatiently on a couch by the front door, kicking his legs and staring at the grandfather clock. He always hated when England does this. Doesn't England realize how much he worries when he stays out late drinking? America knew something was upsetting him. Something was happening in the world, and America knew that England was keeping things from him. Finally, he heard the sound of a flower pot being tipped over. Drunken England was home, and was staggering up the steps to the front door, knocking things over as he did. America jumped off the couch and opened the door, and England would have hit the floor if America wasn't there to catch him. England chuckled, a blissful expression on his face. America knew it was most likely false. "Sorry…" England said, trying to stand up straight. America wrapped England's arm around his shoulder to help him walk to his room. Luckily America was amazingly strong. As they slowly climbed the stairs, America fought back tears. He hated the fact that something was bothering England _so much_, that had made him want to get _this drunk_. "It must be _bad_…" America thought, a pained expression on his face. On the way to England's room, England talked to him like he was telling a story, but America couldn't understand anything he was saying, and eventually they reached the bedroom and he flopped England down on the bed. "Okay…" America thought, thinking about what to do next. He started by taking off England's shoes, and England protested by saying things like, "No, I can do it myself…" or "Don't worry about me, America…" but America continued on to England's jacket. "I'll just take off his jacket. He'll just have to sleep in his clothes tonight; I really don't want to have to change his clothes for him," America thought as he undid England's buttons. "America…" England mumbled and grabbed America's shirt collar. America directed his attention away from the buttons and looked up at England, who had sat up. England's eyes were half-lidded and his face was pink and his mouth was formed into a smirk. "If you really want to do _that,_ you have to do _this_ first…" England said teasingly, and connected America's lips with his own. America's eyes grew wide, and England pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. America rose his hands to England's shoulders trying to push him away. England broke the kiss and chuckled. "Don't you know how to seduce _at all_, America~? Gosh, what kind of parent am I, can't even teach my own little kid how to do anything right…." England's arm slipped from America's collar and he slumped back, falling asleep. America sat on the bed for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. America decided that it was entirely the alcohol talking and decided to act like this never happened, "He didn't mean it that way," he had thought to himself, and soon America himself had forgotten….

Until now. America sat in England's kitchen, his hand gripping his chest tightly, his heart beating uncontrollably. America was struggling with three emotions….shock from the sudden remembrance of the incident, slightly disturbed….and how excited that memory was making him. He gulped down his cold burger and started to cough, and then England walked into the room. "Don't swallow it whole, you git. Gosh, didn't I teach you anything?" England said. America turned pink and began to cough even more violently.


End file.
